


down comes the night (watch the sun rise)

by minsyah



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Coming to terms with immortality, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Mild descriptions of violence, Phichit's vampiric hamsters, but like barely, soft boys in soft love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minsyah/pseuds/minsyah
Summary: Viktor’s life starts when he dies. It’s much more anti-climactic than he was expecting.While being a vampire might be disappointingly boring, Yuuri is not.(essentially, domestic soft vampire boyfriends)





	down comes the night (watch the sun rise)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yuurikatsuckme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuurikatsuckme/gifts).



> who said they liked vampires and fluff
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it!! It's my first time ever writing a gift fic and it was really really fun!!! (im sorry it's so long omg)
> 
> happy holidays!! :3

Viktor dies—only to wake up the next morning.

Viktor knows he died. He remembers the deafening bang of the gunshot. The hot flash of pain on the left side of his chest before it faded to tingling numbness. He remembers collapsing to the concrete, knees buckling painfully beneath him. He remembers the look of terror on the face of his assailant, the gun barrel still smoking in his hand before he fled the scene, sneakers slapping loudly against the sidewalk as he ran. He remembers how heavy his eyes felt, blinking sluggishly until he could no longer keep them open, and finally closing them as his consciousness faded into oblivion. He remembers thinking how awful that this was how he was going to die— dressed in a hideous purple satin shirt and obnoxious bellbottoms as he was coming home from Mila’s Seventies themed birthday party in a random alleyway by some punk with a gun. He’s never going to live this down (Or would it be ‘die this down’? What does it matter if he‘s probably not going to make it to the morning?).

Viktor’s understandably confused when he wakes up the next day. 

He’s still in the alleyway where he was shot but propped up against the brick wall beside a horrendous smelling dumpster. He’s still in his god-awful seventies outfit, the satin shirt tight against his torso and residual body glitter itchy on his skin. There’s blood all over his front, staining the royal purple fabric and sticky all over. Craning his neck down to peer at his abdomen, Viktor can see the hole from the gunshot wound, gory and gaping. He feels sick as he forces himself to look away and survey his surroundings.

There’s a man standing in front of him, several feet away but looking worriedly down at him. He panics once he notices that Viktor is awake, pale skin turning a wondrous pink as he glances around frantically before staring fixedly at his feet. 

He’s dressed in his pajamas, blue fleece pajama bottoms with a cartoon dog bone pattern and a fluffy grey robe with hearts all over the fabric. His messy dark hair completes the look, sticking up in all directions like a bird’s nest.

He’s cute.

There’s a stinging at his neck, something burning and insistently throbbing even more than the gunshot wound in his chest. He ignores it, instead smiling up at the man all while fluttering his lashes, relishing at the way the man pinkens even further and starts to shuffle awkwardly in place.

“Hi, I’m Viktor. Do you come here often?”

The man chokes.

——————

It doesn’t really register to Viktor that he’s dead— truly and actually dead—until later that morning. The man, with red cheeks and the cutest little stutter, introduced himself as Yuuri before taking Viktor up to his apartment to clean up. Viktor stands in the shower as he rinses the dried blood off the skin, watching it wash down the drain. Looks down at the hole in his chest, watching it slowly repair itself as the muscles and fibers knit back together until the only thing that was left was a slightly pink scar.

 _Ah_ , _I’m dead_ , Viktor thinks, before reaching into the shower caddy and grabbing Yuuri’s Bath-and-Body-Works’ Freesia shower gel and lathering himself with meadow-scented goodness.

Yuuri is sitting awkwardly at the dining table when Viktor emerges from the shower in a billow of steam. He’s borrowed Yuuri’s shower robe but it’s obviously too small for him, coming down only to mid-thigh. He’s toweling off his silver hair as he comes out, crossing the room before coming to sit directly in front of Yuuri. The man’s changed out of his pajamas while Viktor was in the bathroom, wearing a plain blue tee and a pair of jeans. Viktor’s only slightly disappointed.

“Um, h-how are you feeling?” Yuuri tentatively asks him. His hands are on top of the table, fidgeting restlessly with each other.

Viktor shrugs, letting the towel fall so it’s draped around his neck. A bead of water falls from his forehead and trails down his neck, disappearing beneath his robe. Viktor isn’t oblivious to the way Yuuri immediately zeroes in on it, watching it with red cheeks.

“Pretty good, considering I was shot last night,” Viktor says carelessly. At his remark, Yuuri suddenly freezes, body going rigid. He glances at him from the corner of his eyes. “I take that you have something to do with the fact that I’m still walking around?”

Yuuri swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, before giving Viktor an almost imperceptible jerky nod. The air between them is tense, the two sitting and waiting for the other to make the next move.

Yuuri is the one who speaks first. 

“Do you believe in monsters?” Yuuri asks him quietly, gaze turning solemn. His eyes are dark, sharpening to something almost predatory. Viktor feels like he should be afraid, feels as if he’s just stumbled accidentally stumbled into something incredibly dangerous and that his life has been changed for good.

But for some reason, Viktor, wearing a borrowed bathrobe and smelling like the mango body butter he lathered himself in, isn’t afraid.

He smiles at Yuuri, mouth curving into a heart. “Should I start?”

The side of his neck burns once more.

——————

Viktor goes on with the rest of his day like normal. He stops by the local market on the way back, buying some laundry detergent and a new crystal glassware set. He picks up Makkachin from Yuri’s place, showering her with affection and slobbering kisses as the teen scowls at him before slamming the door on the loving pair. Viktor ends up taking her on a long walk at the nearby park, laughing as she frolics around the fallen leaves and chases nearby birds away.

When he gets home later in the afternoon, Makka immediately pads over to her doggy bed in the corner and settles in for her customary afternoon nap. Viktor takes his time as he heads towards the kitchen. He places the small paper bag that Yuuri gave him before he left on the counter, staring at it pensively. He reaches inside and takes out one of the pouches, observing how stark the contrast is between the paleness of his skin and the bright vivid crimson of the liquid.

A blood pack— the kind that Viktor’s only seen in movies and medical dramas. Viktor stares at it for a long time, rolling it around in his hand, watching the dark liquid slosh around in the plastic.

Viktor takes out his new glassware, rinsing it in the sink, the blood pack resting on the counter nearby, and wonders how much his life is going to change from now on.

——————

Viktor meets Yuuri again three days after their first encounter. They meet at Yuuri’s apartment again, Yuuri greeting him awkwardly at the door before leading him inside. 

“Are you...doing okay?” Yuuri asks after they’ve finished the customary pleasantries. Viktor doesn’t like how Yuuri looking at him like that, with deep sad eyes and a tight jaw.  He looks at Viktor like he’s ruined his life— condemned him to a life of horror. Perhaps he had but right now, all Viktor knows is that Yuuri saved him. Saved the life of a man he never knew and for that, Viktor is grateful.

“Tell me, Yuuri,” Viktor says. The man immediately stiffens at the acknowledgment before hunching in on himself, shoulders drooping. He looks like he’s waiting for Viktor to yell at him, almost like a child anticipating a scolding.

“What do you do for fun?”

A pause.

“P-pardon?” Yuuri stammers.

“Take me out, Yuuri,” Viktor tells him, resting his arms on the tabletop and leaning his cheek on the palm of his hand. “Show me what it means to be a vampire.”

——————

Yuuri takes him a mini-golf course.

“Have you been here before?” Viktor asks as they stand in line with a bevy of middle-aged couples with their families and several rambunctious groups of teenagers.

Yuuri blushes and shakes his head. “N-no...”

When they reach the counter, the attendant greets him by name and apparently give Yuuri his “favorite putter, specially reserved for him.” Yuuri refuses to look him in the eye as they head towards the first course. 

The mini golf course is actually quite large, dozens of holes with even more on the inside of the large building. The first hole is quite simple, a straight green path that gently slopes into a hill overlooking the man-made river looping around the courses. 

Yuuri takes his stance at the top of the hole and gently nudges his bright green ball down the hill and into the hole in one fell swoop. A hole in the one. 

Viktor considers the man with a raised eyebrow. “How often do you come here?” He asks accusatorily. Yuuri flushes and avoids his eyes. 

The two swap places, with Viktor and his hot neon pink ball now on the tee. Viktor considers the distance momentarily. It shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, it’s only the first hole and Yuuri got his in on the first try.

Viktor pulls back and swings. His bright pink ball lands in the river with a gentle plop. 

Yuuri can’t contain a surprised giggle, almost more of a wheeze if anything. “What was that?” Viktor asks, turning to the side and giving Yuuri a side-eye. The man immediately clams up and looks quickly away again.

“N-nothing.”

When Viktor’s replacement ball—this time baby blue in color—also ends up in the river, a delighted laugh escapes Yuuri’s mouth and echoes sweetly in Viktor’s ears.

——————

“Fuck—should I do it like this? Oh, this is so—Yuuri! Stop laughing!”

Yuuri, who’s doubled over clutching at his midriff as if his sides are about to split open, is practically crying from laughter.

“Yuuri!” Viktor cries out, a pout settling on his lips. They’re on the eighth hole of the night—Yuuri being eight for eight while Viktor is at a dismal forty-nine to eight. Viktor’s never tried mini-golf before but he never thought he would be _this_ awful at it. He’s lost seven balls in the river so far—the attendant is definitely giving him a stink eye and Viktor knows that if he loses this one, he won’t be getting a replacement.

This hole is relatively uncomplicated, a simple straight path on even terrain. There’s a large mechanical wind-mill at the end of the course, the blades slowly rotating to cover the opening where the hole is. Yuuri managed to get past the obstacle easily, his ball slipping past the sweeping blade and sinking neatly in the hole.

And Viktor? There’s a noticeable dent in one of the metal blades from Viktor’s golf-ball repeatedly banging against it in his attempt to make it inside.

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri gasps out, waving Viktor off with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his middle. “It’s just—you’re so bad!”

Viktor’s pout deepens. “That’s it,” Viktor announces, dramatically dropping his putter on the ground and throwing his hands in the air. “I can’t do this. I’m done. My pride has been wounded and I’ll never recover.”

Yuuri laughs again— this time bordering on hysterical. Viktor continues to sulk as Yuuri struggles to calm down enough to reply.

“You just need practice,” Yuuri finally tells him when his laughter subsides, stepping forward to pick up the putter and offer it to Viktor. Viktor deliberately brushes against Yuuri’s hand as he takes the handle from him, smiling victoriously when Yuuri turns a nice shade of red.

“Will you show me?” Viktor simpers, fluttering his lashes as he leans in close. Yuuri coughs awkwardly into his hand before taking a step back to demonstrate his form, easily sinking Viktor’s purple golf ball in the hole without any complications.

Viktor observes him with a frown.

“You did it wrong,” he tells him.

Yuuri sputters incredulously, looking up at him with wide eyes. “W-what do you mean?”

Viktor shakes his head with a click of his tongue. “You see, when someone asks you for help with stuff like this, the proper response is to get as close as possible.” Viktor circles around Yuuri, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s lithe body to rest directly atop his hands on the putter, leaning so close that their bodies are pressed flush together. Yuuri squeaks when Viktor cradles his hands, guiding Yuuri into a gentle practice swing. “It was an invitation to hold me,” Viktor explains with a mischievous pout, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder.

For a moment, Viktor thinks he might have taken it too far—pushed Yuuri too far out of his comfort zone and ruined the easy-going atmosphere they’d achieved that night. But then Yuuri twists his head and gives Viktor a teasing smirk, eyes twinkling impishly. At this close proximity, Viktor can see the tiniest hint of fangs hiding behind his soft lips. “I don’t think even a hands-on approach could help your golfing skills,” he tells him and it takes Viktor a moment to register the response before he pulls back with a sputtering whine.

“Y-Yuuri!”

He utterly demolishes Viktor in the next seven holes they play.

——————

They retire their golfing activities after Viktor gets his ball stuck on the top of the bright yellow recreation of the Pyramids of Egypt and the haggard part-time employee chases them off the course. They’re in the restaurant area of the building, a sweaty diner with animal animatronics and dozens of screaming kids running around different game machines. They’re seated in a booth in the corner with a liter of Dr. Pepper and a large cheesy pepperoni pizza between them.

“Can we eat this?” Viktor asks curiously, poking at one of the greasy slices. With the blood packs that Yuuri provided, Viktor never felt the need to eat—never bothered to try. The other day, he regretfully had to throw out a selection of groceries that already spoiled.

“Well, there’s not really any point,” Yuuri says, grabbing a slice and letting the cheese stretch as he deposits it on his own paper plate with a wet-sounding ‘plop’. “It’s not like it really satisfies our hunger. But you _can_ eat it if you want. And, well—” Yuuri gives a small shrug, ”it still tastes good.”

Viktor takes a slice, letting the grease drip off the tip of the pizza, and takes a tentative bite. The crust is stiff like cardboard and the stringy cheese suddenly brings him back to his high school cafeteria days. He eats three more slices and then orders a tower of onion rings, which he demolishes it in less than fifteen minutes.

When the food is finished, he and Yuuri continue to sit idly in the booth, the atmosphere awkward now that they don’t have anything to distract them.

“So,” Viktor asks, playing around with the scrunched-up napkin in front of him. “Is this how all vampires spend their time? Going on dates to a mini-golf course and eating greasy fast food?”

Yuuri is swirling the ice of his Doctor Pepper with his blue silly straw, staring at the small whirlpool he’s created in his glass. “I wouldn’t know,” Yuuri finally says and Viktor lifts his head when he realizes how sad and resigned Yuuri sound, gazing curiously at the man. “I don’t know many other vampires.”

Yuuri looks up and shoots Viktor a self-deprecating smile. “Most of us like to lead secluded lives,” he says.

“It sounds lonely,” Viktor tells him honestly and Yuuri gives him a small shrug, continue to swirl his half-melted drink.

“It’s better than the alternative,” Yuuri says. He relinquishes his hold on the straw and lets his hand fall on top of the counter, squaring his shoulders as he faces Viktor directly.

His next words are low and hushed, almost too quiet for Viktor to distinguish from the laughter of children playing around them. Viktor knows that look. He sees it flash across Yuuri’s face frequently—when he thinks Viktor isn’t looking. A look of pain and regret that morphs his features into something unbearably sad. Viktor hates it.

“Look, Viktor, I’m—“

“Don’t.”

Yuuri blinks in surprise, words dying instantly in his mouth. “W-what?” He asks, looking taken back.

Viktor shakes his head dismissively. “I know what you’re about to say,” he says firmly. “Don’t.”

“But I’m—“

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Yuuri,” Viktor says with a tone of finality. “Without you, I would have died. That’s a fact.”

“But—” The look on Viktor’s face instantly stops whatever Yuuri is about to say and he sags his shoulders in defeat, hanging his head low.

“Okay,” Yuuri simply whispers. Neither of them looks satisfied with the outcome of this conversation but Viktor knows they won’t be able to resolve this— whatever _this_ is— so soon. Yuuri and he are practically strangers still, bound together by a chance encounter.

 _Bound together for an eternity_ , Viktor thinks, rubbing at the side of his neck where a bite wound once resided, now long healed.

“So, what else do you end up doing for fun?” Viktor asks after a long stretch of terse silence. He didn’t mean to sour the mood like this. He was genuinely enjoying their time together, despite how awful as he was at mini-golf (and how awful Yuuri was for laughing at him at every hole, no matter how cute his smile was).

Yuuri accepts the change of subject easily, offering Viktor a shaky smile. “There’s laser tag upstairs,” he suggests.

Viktor nods seriously before sliding out the booth, offering a hand to Yuuri once he’s upright. “Well then, Yuuri. Would you like to accompany me to beat down some eleven-year-olds in laser tag?” Viktor asks formally.

Yuuri snorts, shaking his head but still tentatively accepting his hand. “You’re paying for the first round,” Yuuri tells him.

——————

It’s unnerving how utterly mundane Viktor’s life is after becoming a vampire.

His life is still more or less the same as it was before the incident. Viktor still goes to work every weekday, spending his 9-5 hours reading bad manuscripts in the hopes of finding a diamond in the rough for his publishing company. After work, he picks up Makka from doggy daycare and takes her on a nice long walk until they finally return home, exhausted. The two of them laze around the house, Viktor watching his guilty-pleasure soaps with Makka curled in his lap until nightfall, only to repeat the same thing the next day.

The fact that his dinner is replaced with a liter of human blood and that Viktor is actually an immortal being now is irrelevant.

He brings it up with Yuuri the next time he visits in his apartment, lounging on Yuuri’s leather sofa, legs dangling off the side.

“Is there anything like, I dunno, exciting about being a vampire?” Viktor asks. Yuuri, who’s in the kitchen baking gluten-free cupcakes, lets out a thoughtful hum in response.

“Not really,” Yuuri tells him as he continues to sift the icing sugar into one of the mixing bowls. He has a flower-printed apron on and his messy hair is dusted with flour from when Viktor was helping out earlier before Yuuri finally kicked him out in the kitchen. _He’s cute_ , Viktor thinks. It’s what Viktor always thinks, no matter what Yuuri does. “There’s no super strength or special powers like in movies and stuff.”

“What about like, fancy blood rituals? Or like, super-secret vampire meetings in hidden crypts?”

Yuuri wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Things like that haven’t happened since the 1900’s,” Yuuri tells him before dismissively shaking his head. “I would much rather live in this time period than have to go through persecutions and public burnings again.”

Viktor suddenly sits up, whipping his head towards Yuuri and narrowing his eyes. “Does that you mean you _did_ you live through those?” Viktor asks, voice dropping into a hush.

Yuuri must’ve realized his mistake because he suddenly pales and starts to focus intently on the almond flour he’s sifting into the mixing bowl.

Viktor won’t let this drop that easily. He stands up, crosses the living room and leans across the island counter to stare unblinkingly at Yuuri. Yuuri still refuses to look up at him.

“How old are you, Yuuri?” Viktor finally asks.

It takes a moment for Yuuri to respond. “…old enough,” Yuuri finally says. Viktor rolls his eyes.

“Well, could you elaborate on that please?” Viktor asks. Yuuri picks up the second mixing bowl of cream butter and sugar and starts whisking in several egg yolks in quick succession.

“Are you from the 1900’s?” Viktor asks eagerly, leaning in and invading Yuuri’s personal bubble. “Were you born in the 1920’s? Did you live through the World Wars?”

Yuuri ignores him in favor of carefully lining the metal tin with cupcake wrappers.

“Or—or are you older than that? Yuuri? Have you always lived here or do you come from—”

Yuuri turns around to preheat the oven. Viktor is undeterred.

“What about the 1800’s? Or, is it earlier than that? The 1700’s? What about—“

“I’m not sure of the exact date,” Yuuri finally answers with an exasperated sigh. Viktor grins in triumph. “But from what I remember, I’m pretty sure I was born around the Muromachi period of Japan.”

Viktor frowns, puzzled. “So that’s…?”

Yuuri sighs, coughing into his hand, cheeks stained red. “It’s somewhere between the late 1300’s to the 1600’s.”

Viktor chokes.

“Y-Yuuri!” He gasps out. Yuuri’s entire face has flushed tomato red and he turns around stubbornly, vigorously whisking his cupcake mixture until the batter starts sloshing out the sides.

“It’s not a big deal,” Yuuri mutters and Viktor realizes that he must be _embarrassed_ that he was born so long ago.

“It’s not,” Viktor says, forcing himself to tone down his excitement slightly. “I just think it’s cool! I mean, you have such an exciting life story. And you’ve lived through so much history!”

Viktor frowns, thinking about his own life now. He leans forward until his arms are resting on the counter, holding his face with his hands. “If you think about me, don’t you think my story is kind of boring? I was turned in 2017 in a dirty alleyway dressed in _bell-bottoms_. Bell-bottoms, Yuuri! There’s nothing exciting about that.”

Yuuri snorts in disbelief, shaking his head. “I was born as a _rice farmer_ , Viktor. When I first turned, I spent the next two hundred years after that _still_ farming because I wasn’t sure what to do.”

Still, Viktor is displeased.

He hums in thought, a sudden idea forming in his head. “What if I made up a new origin story? I mean, if we ever bump into any fellow vampires, I’ve got to have something exciting to tell them, right? I can’t have them looking down on me. I need to show them how cultured I am.”

“Then tell me, what’s your new story then?” Yuuri asks with barely concealed mirth. Viktor grins at him challengingly.

“Well, I’m actually Russian royalty,” Viktor says, ignoring Yuuri’s amused snort. “I was in line to be the next tsar of Russia, but when I was ten years old a group of rebels invaded the palace in order to usurp the throne. You were working as a servant in the castle so when you found out about the rebels, you helped me sneak out of the palace and—“

“You can’t rip off the plot of _Anastasia_!” Yuuri cuts him off with a shriek of laughter. “Viktor!”

Viktor pouts in mock displeasure, but can’t help silently take in the way Yuuri’s nose scrunches cutely in amusement, a beautiful smile gracing his face. Yuuri’s smile is quickly becoming Viktor’s favorite feature about the man— soft and sweet, with the slightest hint of a dimple hiding in his cheek.

Yuuri shakes his head as he takes out a ladle from a nearby drawer and starts spooning the mixture into the pan. “I think your life story is plenty interesting,” Yuuri tells him. “You don’t have to make anything up to make yourself sound impressive. You don’t need to.”

“Do you really think that, Yuuri?” Viktor asks softly. He sounds almost vulnerable, like a child timidly looking for acceptance. “Do you think that I’m interesting?

Yuuri looks up at him and shoots him a half-smile, somewhat crooked but breathtaking all the same. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft. “Yeah, I do.”

——————

Viktor meets Phichit completely by accident.

Viktor’s heading to Yuuri’s again—it’s where he spends almost all of his free time now—completely unannounced. He enters through the front door easily because Yuuri refuses to lock his door most days (“Viktor, what’s the worst that could happen? They’re going to kill me? I’m dead to begin with.”). He’s about to call out Yuuri’s name when he stops dead in his tracks in the doorway.

Yuuri notices him first, both hands shooting guiltily up into the air. Viktor immediately homes in on the fact that his fingertips are stained with blood. “It’s not what it looks like,” he tells him.

The man sitting next to him— _who is he?—_ grins cheekily up at Viktor, offering him a slight wave. “Hello! Do you mind closing the door before someone else comes by? I’d hate for Yuuri to get evicted because of me again.”

Viktor follows his instructions and closes the door hesitantly, still unable to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him.

Yuuri and the unknown man are sitting in the middle of living room together, the wooden coffee table pushed off to the side to make some open space. There’s a bright blue tarp beneath him and they’re crowded around what only could be described as an inflatable kiddie pool with wood shavings lining the bottom. There are three hamsters running around the pool, playing with the toys scattered around and scrabbling up the walls.

Also, they’re soaked with blood.

“What is happening?” Viktor asks, still hanging uncertainly in the doorway. He’s a little afraid to come closer.

Yuuri rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, shooting Viktor an apologetic smile. “We were feeding Phichit’s hamsters.”

Viktor glances back down at the three blood-soaked hamsters, whizzing around the pool like tiny race cars.

“And Phichit’s hamsters are…?”

“Well, they’re vampires, of course!” The man—Phichit—interrupts. He scoops one of them up and gives it a loving kiss on the top of its head, uncaring of the blood staining his hands dark pink. There’s a small mark on the corner of his mouth now too—almost like a lipstick stain. Viktor tries not to dwell on how utterly strange this entire interaction is.

“Other animals can become vampires as well?” Viktor asks, slowly inching towards the two. Eventually, Viktor manages to work up the nerve to sit beside Yuuri, peering curiously into the pool where two of the hamsters are still happily bouncing off the walls.

Phichit nods, letting the hamster in his hand back down with the others. “Well, most animals don’t have the cognitive reasoning ability to understand they’re vampires but yeah, they can. You just got to feed them now and then but they’ll basically behave the same way. They don’t really understand that there’s a difference.”

Viktor nods, glancing down at the hamsters before looking up back at the stranger. “And who are you again?”

The man grins at him, flashing an enthusiastic peace sign. “I’m Phichit Chulanont! I’m Yuuri’s best friend!”

It takes a moment for Viktor to register his words.

“Best friend?” Viktor asks, turning to face Yuuri with narrowed eyes. Yuuri avoids his accusatory stare with a cough.

 “You never told me you knew any other vampires,” Viktor says, somewhat hurt. Yuuri’s never mentioned anything about this at all. In fact, Viktor was led to believe that Yuuri lived a completely solitary life. Yet here he is, shacking up with Phichit and his three vampiric hamsters behind his back. It almost feels like betrayal. Viktor has to quash the hurt that expands in his chest before he does something he’ll regret. He doesn’t have a right to be jealous. It’s not like he has any claim on Yuuri, after all. He’s only known him for a few weeks at this point and yet, an ugly feeling worms its way into his heart, creeping and unexpected.

Yuuri scratches his cheek uncomfortably. “I mean, well—you never asked,” he finally stammers out. Viktor is unconvinced.

Apparently, Phichit feels the same way as him. “Well, _I_ asked,” Phichit says with a disappointed pout, “and you never told me you made a new friend either.”

He turns to Viktor with curious eyes. “Who are you?” He asks.

“I’m Viktor,” Viktor says. He also can’t help but add, “Yuuri and I met last month. We’re pretty close, I’d say.”

Instead of becoming jealous like Viktor intended, Phichit looks absolutely delighted at the news, eyes sparkling and mouth dropping open into a small ‘o.’ He pounces at Yuuri, hugging him tightly and nuzzling his cheek against the top of the man’s head.

“Yuuri!” He cries out. “Look at you, you little sneak! I can’t believe you! You nabbed yourself a man and didn’t even bother to tell me? I can’t believe you hid this from me!”

Both Viktor and Yuuri choke at his words.

“P-Phichit!” He stutters, face beet-red. “I—it’s not like that! I mean—Viktor and I—we’re not—it’s just…”

Viktor frowns at his denial. “It’s not?” He asks, somewhat sadly.

Yuuri considers him shyly for a moment, looking up at Viktor from beneath his dark lashes. “Well, I mean… “

Yuuri’s response is cut off by him looking over at an absolutely enamored Phichit, who’s staring starry-eyed at the two with face cradled between his hands, and giving a frustrated sigh.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Yuuri tells him exasperatedly. He stands up and exits the living room. His voice echoes in the hallway as he continues to complain. “You’re a bad influence, Phichit! There’s a reason I didn’t want to introduce you two.”

Phichit grins at Viktor and he can see the sharpness of fangs peeking from out his lips. “So, wanna hear about the first time Yuuri and I went to college together?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow, interest piqued. “The _first_ time?” He asks. Phichit’s smile melts into a devilish smirk.

“Oh, _honey_ ,” he simpers, “I have _decades_ worth of college stories about me and Yuuri. Where do you want to start?”

——————

Phichit leaves Viktor with two kisses on the cheek, his contact info punched into Viktor’s phone, and an entire week’s worth of blood packs sitting in a portable cooler for Viktor to take home.

Viktor stumbles over to where Yuuri is sitting at the kitchen island, climbing into the barstool next to him and slumping onto the granite counter with a sigh.

“I’m not sure why but I’m suddenly so _tired_ ,” Viktor tells him. Yuuri huffs out a laugh.

“Phichit’s like that,” Yuuri says with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Viktor shifts so he’s staring up at Yuuri, cheek still smushed against the countertop.

“Is Phichit as old as you are?” He asks. Yuuri shakes his head.

“I never asked,” Yuuri says. “Phichit’s not like you and me—he’s a pureblood. He was born this way. His family’s been around for a while. Actually, he’s the reason why I can get you a steady supply of blood packs—they have a lot of connections.”

Viktor hums in response.

“Is there a reason why you never told him about me?”

Yuuri freezes momentarily at Viktor’s words, a brief flash of panic overtaking his face before his expression softens. He looks embarrassed as he shoots him a sheepish smile.

His next words are tentative—said so softly that Viktor has to lean in slightly to hear them. “It’s not like there’s a reason,” Yuuri confesses. “I dunno—it’s stupid. I just, well... Phichit has all these friends—he knows everyone and everyone likes him and I—I’m not like that. It’s hard for me to talk to people or try and get to know someone.”

Yuuri smiles down at Viktor and the way Viktor’s heart stutters in his chest when Yuuri’s fond gaze is directed at him is unreal. “But, for some reason, with you it’s easy. To talk to you—spend time with you. I’m sorry if this seems selfish but I just…… wasn’t ready to share you with anyone. I wanted to keep you to myself for a bit. Pretty selfish, right?”

It’s always unexpected—the times when Yuuri finally lets down his walls and tells Viktor his true feelings. It’s unexpected yet exhilarating and it always gives Viktor a thrill in his chest, like a delicate brand seared upon his heart.

“That is selfish,” Viktor agrees and Yuuri flinches slightly, wilting like a flower. Viktor continues, “So, I hope that means you’re okay with me also being selfish. Because I want to keep you to myself as well.”

Yuuri blinks owlishly at his response, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

“Oh,” is all Yuuri can say.

Viktor chuckles slightly. “Is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Yuuri breathes out, bottom lip trembling slightly. He licks at his dry lips, pink tongue darting out briefly. Viktor can see a flash of Yuuri’s fangs before he presses his lips together in a tentative smile. “That’s okay. That’s always okay.”

——————

“Wait, Yuuri! If Phichit’s hamsters are also vampires, does that mean I can turn Makka could become a vampire too? Could I do that? Yuuri? Why are you ignoring me? This is important!  _Yuuri_!”

——————

“You have a lot of hobbies, Yuuri.”

Yuuri only glances up at Viktor briefly before resuming his work, shrugging lightly. “Well, I’ve been around for a while. It’s nice to have something to pass the time.”

“Still,” Viktor says, observing the absolutely breathtaking watercolor Yuuri’s making of the vase of blue snapdragons that Yuuri grew himself in the balcony garden that Yuuri _also_ built himself. “You’re kind of impressive.”

Yuuri laughs lightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re exaggerating—nothing about me is impressive.”

“You don’t want to get into this fight with me, Yuuri—I _will_ win. Don’t test me.”

Yuuri merely snorts in response, rinsing off his brush in a mug of murky water before adding the final yellow details to the center of the flowers. It’s unreal how simple Yuuri makes it seem. How he can transform this blank white canvas into a piece of art. Viktor can’t help but just stand and watch in awe.

“Should I take up painting?” Viktor asks, cocking his head as he observes Yuuri. Yuuri shrugs.

“If you want.” Viktor frowns at his words.

“Why do you say it like that? Do you think I won’t be good at it?” He whines petulantly. Yuuri chuckles at his response, shaking his head.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can be good at it,” Yuuri explains, placing the paintbrush down on the easel ledge and facing Viktor directly. “But if you want to do something, I feel like it should be something you’ve always wanted to do. Something you’ve never had the chance to do but always wanted to try. Do you have anything like that?” 

Viktor pauses as he thinks about all the opportunities he’s missed in his lifetime—all the hobbies and activities he’s put aside in favor of this dead-end job and its mind-numbing monotony because that’s what was expected of him. Because that’s simply what adults are meant to do. He thinks back to being a kid, when he used to look at everything with stars in his eyes—when the world felt like his playground and he was unstoppable— and wondered when he lost that part of himself.

“I don’t know,“ he finally says. Yuuri offers him a consolatory smile, resting a gentle hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“Well, you have plenty of time to figure it out,” Yuuri says softly.

A week later, Viktor heads down to the local sports store and spends his entire paycheck on a brand-new pair of perfectly fitted ice skates.

——————

Yuri barges into his apartment just as Viktor’s finished his intense moisturizing regimen and ready to relax for the evening. He’s swathed himself in a fluffy white bathrobe, still warm from the dryer, and is in the midst of pouring half a liter of O- blood into a crystal goblet to binge watch the entire _Sex and the City_ trilogy on Netflix just as Yuri slams the door open, yelling his name.

The teenager freezes when he and Viktor make eye contact, one hand still on the golden doorknob. The pack in Viktor’s hand falls on the tabletop and lands with a loud splat, splattering messily onto his bathrobe. A small puddle of blood starts to form where the pack has spilled.

“I can explain,” Viktor starts off with, raising his hands guilty in the air. Blood is dripping from his fingertips down to his wrist. Suddenly, he’s reminded of the time he walked in on Yuuri and Phichit and he winces, thinking about how the ensuing conversation will go.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Yuri whispers, horrified.

——————

Surprisingly, Yuri takes it rather well.

“Cool,” he shrugs before stuffing his face with the skinny cheddar popcorn that Viktor likes to keep for when he’s in a munch-y mood (he might not get any nutritional value from human food anymore but carbs are _real_ and they like to attack his hips first). He’s slouching on the leather couch so much that his chin is resting on his chest, a big bowl of popcorn on his lap, with legs propped up on the coffee table.

“C-cool?” Viktor sputters. He’s sitting tensely in the armchair nearby at the very edge of his seat, spine ramrod straight from nerves. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Well, you’re still a loser,” Yuri snorts amidst a massive crunch of popcorn. Viktor winces at the crumbs that fall from his lips onto the couch cushions. Viktor’s vacuum cleaner broke down the last week and he’s been putting off buying a replacement. “That’s something you’ll never be able to change.”

Viktor can’t believe this is actually happening,

“So, it doesn’t bother you?” Viktor asks uncertainly, hands twisting restlessly in his lap. “Like at all? The fact that I’m—you, know?”

“A vampire?” Yuri asks with an eye roll. Viktor nods uncertainly. Yuri sighs, wiping cheddar-y fingers on his jeans before sitting up and setting the popcorn bowl on the coffee table.

“I don’t give a shit,” Yuri repeats. He pauses and considers something for a moment. “But I’m expecting a $20 secrecy fee from now on every time I dog-sit Makkachin. It’s the price for making me an accomplice to all your crimes when you get hungry and have to go eat someone.”

Viktor shakes his head, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t kill people. I mean we— well most of us don’t really need to do that. We can get our blood from somewhere else.”

“Wait, _we_?” Yuri demands, sitting up a little straighter and leaning towards Viktor. “Who’s _we_?”

Viktor cocks his head at his question.

“I was talking about me and Yuuri. He’s the one—“

 “Wait,” Yuri interrupts him, eyes widening with horror and voice turning shrill. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re still _friends_ with the guy who fucking _turned you into a vampire_?”

At Viktor’s confused nod, Yuri turns incredulous, face purpling as he raises his voice. “What the _fuck,_ Viktor? You should hate this guy's guts! You should never want to see him again! You’re not supposed to meet up on Sundays for afternoon tea and have fucking blood-drinking parties together!”

“We don’t have blood-drinking parties!” Viktor denies vehemently. Last weekend with Phichit was an anomaly (“Come on, Viktor! A blood-pack isn’t like a Capri-sun— don’t just stick a straw in and finish it off in twenty seconds. You’ve got to _enjoy_ it—savor the taste. Here—try sipping it like this...”). Viktor shakes his head at the memory, finishing his thought. “And he hasn’t ruined my life, Yuri.”

His next sentence is quiet, said almost privately. “Honestly, I would say he’s given me my life back.”

It’s not quiet enough, though, because Yuri suddenly pales, falling back with his lips curling into a disgusted scowl.

“Oh my god, you _like_ this asshole-”

“He’s not an asshole!” Viktor doesn’t comment on the liking part.

“I can’t believe you!” Yuri says. He looks as if he’s about to throw his hands in the air in exasperation before eventually settling on crossing them, disgruntled, across his chest. “You’re such a fucking idiot! Like, even more than I thought you were. Which is saying a lot!”

“You don’t understand,” Viktor says with a dismissive shake of the head. “Yuuri is a genuinely good person! You’d understand if you meet him.”

Viktor understands immediately that this is the wrong thing to say by the way Yuri leers at him, taking his statement as a challenge

 “Yeah, fine,” Yuri snorts, baring his teeth dangerously. “Let me meet this asshole then.”

——————

Viktor introduces the two of them at Color-Me-Mine.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Yuri whispers as they walk in, the bell on the door chimes as the door closes behind him.

“Don’t swear,” Viktor scolds him lightly. “Madame Delia is old and faint of heart. Spare her delicate ears, Yuri.”

Madame Delia, the elderly shop owner, giggles and waves at the pair as they come in. Yuri gags when Viktor blows her a kiss.

At least he doesn’t complain verbally. Viktor takes it as a good sign.

Yuuri is already sitting in one of the corner tables, perched precariously on the wooden stool with the plate he had started painting last time he and Viktor were here. Even from this distance, Viktor can see the thin sheen of nervous perspiration that’s broken out over his forehead and how Yuuri’s bottom lip is red-raw from where he’s gnawing nervously at it.

Yuri snorts when he sees him, obviously unimpressed. Viktor tries not to let it bother him too much.

“Yuuri!” Viktor greets him with a cheery wave. Yuuri waves faintly at the two, looking quite green for someone supposedly undead. Viktor sits on the stool across from him, Yuri plopping onto the seat on his left.

“Have you been here long?”

“N-no?”

Judging by how his plate is already ¾ of the way finished painting, Yuuri’s been here for at least two hours at this point. Viktor doesn’t comment on it.

“So,” Yuri says after Viktor took him to the back of the shop to pick out his ceramic to paint. Predictably, he chose a miniature statue of a lion mid-roar, “I hear you suck blood or what?”

Yuuri chokes, “Um, I guess,” Yuuri says, casting a nervous glance over at Madame Delia at the counter. She’s completely unaware of their conversation, happily perusing a copy of _Knitting Monthly_ behind the counter. “Does…does that bother you?”

Yuri levels a deadpan look at him. Nearly twenty seconds pass of unnerving silence before Yuri breaks his stare, busying himself as he paints his lion’s mane with a thick coat of black. Yuuri looks confused.

Viktor merely gives Yuuri an awkward smile before resuming his work on the dog bowl he’s painting for Makkachin.

After the introductions, everything else goes surprisingly smoothly. They paint their pottery pieces. Yuri makes fun of Viktor’s sloppy attempt of a poodle head (“It’s called artistic vision!”). Yuuri compliments Yuri on the blood-red demon eyes he gave his lion and the teen turns an interesting shade of puce at his words.

It’s not until they’re done, leaving their pieces at the store to cure in the kiln overnight, that Viktor realizes how tame Yuri’s been acting their entire meeting. Normally, Yuri would be either 1) yelling, 2) swearing, 3) inciting violence, or 4) some combination of all three by now. Yet, Yuri is surprisingly civil. The most he does is throw some thinly-veiled insults Viktor’s way but Viktor is so used to them at this point, they hardly affect him.

Except for the ones about his forehead. He’s sensitive about that and judging by the way Yuri smirks victoriously when he compares its size to the massive billboard they walk pass, he knows that too.

Yuri actually sticks relatively close to Yuuri’s side as they walk, trailing behind him by only a few steps, asking questions in a soft (well, as soft as Yuri can go—which generally means not screaming) voice. He asks about Yuuri’s work. His past. If he likes cats. About how many people he’s killed.

(It’s two—by the way. When Yuuri was still struggling to adjust and Phichit’s steady supply of blood backs didn’t exist yet. The fact that this doesn’t bother Viktor as much as it should have makes him question his own morality, instead worried about Yuuri’s wellbeing.)

It’s a rarity to see Yuri act so civil. Viktor ends up hanging at the back of the group, watching the two Yuri’s make stilted but resolute conversation.

Yuuri buys all three of them ice cream at the local Cold Stone on the way back, even though the winter chill has long set in. They take their cones outside, standing outside the storefront as the icy winds bite at their exposed hands.

“I’m lactose-intolerant,“ Viktor bemoans, looking at the sugary mess of cheesecake ice cream and crumbled Oreos he’s ordered.

“You’re fucking dead, just eat it,” Yuri snorts into his cotton candy ice cream. It’s the second time Yuri’s casually brought it up today and Yuuri chokes in the middle of a bite of his vanilla bean scoop.

It’s exceedingly normal. The entire situation. Viktor’s starting to feel like vampirism in movies is all just one elaborate hoax because the most exciting thing he’s done since he’s turned was help wrangle Phichit’s bloodied hamsters back into their cage the one time they got loose.

Eventually, they part ways. Yuuri gives them a hesitant wave before crossing the street and entering his apartment building. Viktor and Yuri continue walking down the empty sidewalk.

“So……” Viktor starts, glancing at Yuri out of the corner of his eyes.

Yuri rolls his eyes. “So,” he repeats gruffly.

“You were a lot tamer than I thought you’d be,” Viktor casually remarks. They’re waiting at a crosswalk for the pedestrian light to go green.

“Did you not want me to be?” Yuri snorts. He’s refusing to even look at Viktor.

“No, no! It’s good, that’s good!” Viktor reassures him. “I just…was surprised.”

Yuri shrugs, hands still stuffed in his pockets. His jacket is zipped up all the way to the top, hiding the bottom half of his face. “I dunno, you were just making such a huge deal about whether I liked him or not. Might as well try and get to know him at least. I dunno. He’s not as bad as I thought he’d be.”

“Yuri…” Viktor says, oddly touched. He’s about to reach out to the teen, maybe wrap him into an unwilling hug that would definitely end with Yuri screeching and kicking at his shins, when the pedestrian light changes.

“Fuck off,” Yuri grits out before crossing the street, doubling his speed when Viktor matches his pace, holding his arms out and making kissy-faces at the blonde.

“Come here, Yuri,” Viktor whines, pouting at the boy. “Give me a hug.”

“FUCK OFF.”

The three of them go back to Color-Me-Mine the following week.

——————

Yuuri’s devastatingly gorgeous and the fact that he’s seemingly unaware of it drives Viktor crazy.

Viktor likes to watch him at times, when Yuuri’s lost in his own world, oblivious to his surroundings. He’s perched on the armchair in Yuuri’s living room, giving him the perfect view to watch Yuuri as the man wipes down the kitchen table with a rag, humming softly underneath his breath. It’s getting colder now, the outside world locked in an icy winter, so Yuuri’s swathed himself in a cream sweater, contrasting nicely with his dark hair. It’s slightly oversized, the sleeves slightly too long with a wide neck, exposing the tanned expanse of his collarbone. He takes Viktor’s breath away.

“You’re so pretty,” Viktor says, the words slipping out of his mouth before he registers them. It doesn’t bother him though, instead leaning his cheek on the back of the chair. It’s true, after all. “How is that fair?”

Yuuri, startled, looks up at him with eyes wide in shock.

“What are you saying?” Yuri laughs, somewhat awkward. He rubs at the back of his neck, looking off to the side. “Don’t say things like that.”

Viktor frowns, at Yuuri’s strained tone, straightening up into a seated position. “Say things like what?”

Yuuri gnaws at his bottom lip, his hands awkwardly fumbling together. “I don’t know…just things like that. Please…just don’t. It’ll give me the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?” Viktor climbs to his feet. Yuuri flinches slightly as he approaches but Viktor doesn’t falter, only stopping when he’s standing directly in front of Yuuri. “What kind of idea am I giving you?”

It takes a moment for Yuuri work up the nerve to respond.

“Like I’m special to you,” Yuuri whisper, and the is like a stab through the heart for Viktor. “Like you care about me. It’s not nice to play with my feelings like that.”

“I never play around, not when I’m with you,” Viktor says, reaching out and slipping Yuuri’s hand with his, squeezing tight. Even with the sad look on Yuuri’s face, he relaxes almost imperceptibly when Viktor twines their fingers together. “Everything I do is genuine.”

“Really?” Yuuri whispers as if he can’t actually believe what Viktor is saying. It makes him sad, that Yuuri thinks like that and he immediately wants to rectify it.

Viktor thickly swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “I like you, Yuuri. I thought it was obvious.”

Yuuri bites his lip again. “I wasn’t sure…I thought…you just like to flirt around. I meant, that day in the alley. It felt like you weren’t serious.”

Viktor winces slightly at the reminder. His memories of that night are mostly hazy and he would like to blame the blood loss (and the bullet hole in his chest) for how flirtatious he came across as.

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Viktor says, rubbing soothing circles into Yuuri’s hand with his thumb.” I like you, Yuuri. I like you a lot.”

“Well…that’s good.” Viktor laughs at his response.

“I would hope so,” he chuckles.

“I like you,” Yuuri suddenly says. His hand in Viktor’s is trembling slightly. ”Too. I mean. I like you too.”

Viktor offers him a half smile, tugging him closer by their joined hands until Yuuri bumps into his chest. Viktor lowers his head until his face is buried in Yuuri’s shoulder, reveling in the smell of Yuuri’s clean skin, still warm from his shower earlier. Yuuri stiffens slightly before relaxing in his hold, wrapping his free arm around Viktor’s waist and holding him tight, resting his chin on the top of Viktor’s head.

“What are we?” Viktor mumbles into his sweater.

Yuuri doesn’t respond. Viktor can see Yuuri’s uncertainty in how to answer, feels it in how Yuuri stiffens slightly in his grasp.

“We don’t have to decide anything right now,” Viktor tells him, rescinding his question after Yuuri doesn’t say anything for several moments. “We have time to figure it out. Plenty of it.”

It doesn’t bother Viktor as much as it normally would, that Yuuri doesn’t answer his question. It already feels like a blessing that Yuuri is in his life and while Viktor may be selfish, he’s not devoid of patience. And Yuuri, most of all, deserves his patience.

He pauses though, considering his words. “But I’m going to be honest, I’ll be pretty upset if we haven’t come to a decision in like fifteen years. Even that’s excessive. Don’t be cruel to me.”

Yuuri laughs at that, shaking his head, shoulder shaking with giggles.

“I couldn’t be cruel to you,” Yuuri whispers. His voice in Viktor’s ear sends tingles down his spine. “So, don’t be cruel to me.”

“I would never,” Viktor assures him and he can feel Yuuri smile against his hair, holding him just a bit tighter.

——————

Yuuri’s startled screech is masked by the loud crack of party poppers ignited by Phichit and Viktor’s hands.

“Surprise!” Phichit cries out. “Happy birthday!” He ignites another party popper, the paper confetti streaming out and hitting Yuuri directly in the face. Viktor, with a festive party hat balanced on his hair, blows into his kazoo happily.

Yuuri is pressed up against the doorway, one hand clutched over his heart and the other desperately holding onto the wooden door frame. His eyes are completely blown, pupils quivering as he glances between them. In his panic, his fangs have completely slipped out, the sharp fangs contrasting starkly with his pink lips.

Viktor cocks his head at Yuuri’s reaction, taking the kazoo away from his lips.

“Why do you look so shocked?” Viktor asks him curiously. “Phichit told me he surprises you for your birthday every year. Shouldn’t you be expecting it?”

Yuuri exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair as he straightens up. “He does surprise me every year,” Yuuri explains. His hands are still shaking slightly. “But I’m not sure when my birthday is so Phichit just chooses a random day to celebrate. I never know what he’s going to do.”

Phichit grins, flashing both of them a peace sign. “Last year, it was on St. Patrick’s day—what a wild birthday, right Yuuri? I took him to Vegas.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, half-heartedly pushing Phichit back. “Just stop talking.”

 “I’ll just be in the kitchen,” Phichit says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he slowly edges away from the two. “I’ll let you two…do what you need.”

Phichit ducks the exasperated swipe Yuuri gives and disappears into the kitchen, cackling madly.

It’s just the two of them now.

“Happy birthday,” Viktor offers awkwardly.

Yuuri huffs out a laugh, shaking his head fondly. “Thank you,” Yuuri tells him. He holds out his hand and Viktor takes it gladly, twining their fingers together before stepping forward and standing Yuuri’s personal space. He doesn’t mind though, smiling softly up at Viktor.

“Did you get me a present?” Yuuri asks, cocking an eyebrow teasingly. Viktor laughs, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and bringing him closer to his chest.

“Of course, I did. I’ll give it to you later,” Viktor tells him. “But for now, I’ll just leave you with this.”

Viktor leans in closer, hovering near the side of Yuuri’s face. Yuuri tilts his head towards him invitingly and Viktor presses the softest of kisses on his cheek, pleased by Yuuri’s happy sigh. He wants to press another one into his skin—on top of his faint freckles, on the tip of his nose, in the dimple of Yuuri’s smile. He wants to leave a little trail of soft kisses all over Yuuri’s face, wants to pepper him with love and affection until he’s drowning in it, pink-faced and giggling.

And Viktor would’ve too if it weren’t for the faint “ _OooooOoooohhh”_ coming from Phichit in the kitchen. The two break apart, Yuuri somewhat sheepish as he coughs into his fist and avoids Phichit’s knowing leer. Viktor, who has no shame, is petulant about the interruption.

He gets over it, instead taking Yuuri by the hand and leading him forward.

“Come on,” Viktor says, guiding him to the kitchen. “This year, November 29th is your special day.”

——————

Their first ‘official’ date outside of either of their apartments is curated by Viktor, who scrolled through Yelp endlessly for hours and carefully scribed their itinerary on pretty pink stationery bordered with bubbly red hearts.

When Viktor arrives to pick him up at his apartment, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and his perfectly organized schedule in the other, Yuuri takes the flowers with reddened cheeks and a roll of the eyes.

They have lunch at an Italian restaurant downtown, (“The best Italian restaurant,” Viktor tells him. “4.5 stars on Yelp. Margaret said it was the best pasta of her life.”), seated in an intimate booth in the corner of the room with a nice view overlooking the city skyline.

“You need to slow down,” Yuuri laughs when Viktor takes his third slice of garlic bread. “You’re going to be full before our entrees arrive.”

 “What if they thought we were vampires, Yuuri?” Viktor asks loudly, suppressing a flinch when Yuuri kicks him in the shin underneath the table. “We need to make it’s clear we’re not since we’re having so much garlic bread.”

Their waitress, who hears them as she’s passing by, laughs and calls them cute before giving them another basket. Viktor winks conspiratorially at him before taking another piece and Yuuri stuffs his exasperated laugh into a piece of bread.

Yuuri, as always, picks up the tab after their filling meal. Viktor would complain more if he hadn’t seen how many zeroes were attached to only _one_ of Yuuri’s numerous saving accounts.

(Viktor knows bits and pieces of Yuuri’s past—enough to form some kind of hazy picture but not enough to know the actual specifics of it. Viktor will weasel Yuuri’s past out of him someday but there’s no rush. They have time to get to know each gradually—time for Viktor to discover the intricacies of who Yuuri is as a person.)

Comfortably sated after their meal, Viktor takes Yuuri to an art museum next.

“There’s a special exhibition this month,” Viktor explains as they walk through the main foyer after they purchase their tickets. It’s a wide-open area, light streaming in through the floor to ceiling glass windows with a large twisted glass display hanging from the ceiling. “It’s a collection of artwork made by unknown artists—most of them with unknown origins.”

“How mysterious,” Yuuri quips.

Viktor nods in agreement. “Very.”

He and Yuuri slowly tour through the exhibition hall, stopping frequently at the various paintings and reading the mysterious captions the museum provided them. There’s nothing inherently different about the paintings, most of them quite beautiful and striking. But the fact that most of them are shrouded in mystery leads Viktor to want to guess at their origins.

“What do you think about this one?” Viktor asks when they stop by a full-length portrait of a woman in the most extravagant Victorian dress but the ugliest scowl on her face, eyes glaring and face wrinkled with disgust.

Yuuri pauses a moment to consider it. “The painter was her son,” Yuuri decides on. “And he absolutely hated her but she forced him to paint a portrait of her. So, he made this, left it at her house before she saw and skipped town.”

Viktor laughs. Yuuri nudges his head to the next painting over, a minimalist painting that was only three red squares and a blue line where the caption stated that research uncovered a room that was filled with almost hundred paintings of a similar style. “What do you think?”

“The squares represent the three parts of a man’s psyche,” Viktor says in a voice reminiscent of his pompous university lecturers. “The fact that they’re by themselves on a white canvas shows how that this is what defines man, his three base senses. The painter was inspired by Freudian Psychology— the ego, the superego, and the id.”

Eyes sparkling with mirth, Yuuri prompts him one more. “And the line?”

“Sexual deviance.”

Yuuri’s snort of a laugh takes him by surprise, loud and echoing throughout the open room. Several other patrons look curiously over at them and Yuuri blushes, waving an apology as Viktor doubles over in laughter.

“You’re the worst,” Yuuri whispers to a still chuckling Viktor as he rounds the corner to the next aisle of paintings.

Viktor follows after Yuuri, stumbling when he solidly collides into Yuuri’s back when the man suddenly freezes in his tracks.

“Yuuri? Viktor asks, looking curiously at the man. He’s frozen, all the color so. He follows Yuuri’s line of sight, to the painting the man was looking at. “What are you—“

The words shrivel up in his mouth when he sees the subject of the painting. There’s no denying who it is. Viktor would recognize that face anywhere.

It’s Yuuri.

He’s sitting on the floor, back leaning against an unmade bed, hugging one knee to his chest. He’s dressed in a simple pair of pants and a plain white tunic—the first few buttons undone to expose the long expanse of his neck, Golden sunlight is streaming through, giving him an angelic glow. He’s staring off to the side, face pensive with one hand running through his ebony locks.

“Oh my god.” Viktor’s mouth has dropped open in shock.

“Let’s go,” Yuuri hisses, tugging at Viktor. It’s useless though because Viktor has no intention of stepping away now.

Viktor smiles, turning excitedly to Yuuri. “Is that you?”

Panicked, Yuuri glances around at them, sighing in relief when he spots no one else nearby. “Viktor!” He whines, tugging at Viktor’s arm.

“Yuuri!” He mocks childishly, laughing when Yuuri pouts unhappily. “Who painted this?” He asks, this time in a hushed voice. His eyes widen when he’s struck with a sudden realization. “Yuuri, was this made by a former lover?”

“W-what? I—Viktor! Stop it,” Yuuri protests.

The smile on Viktor’s faces turns smug. “That wasn’t a denial.”

“Viktor!” Yuuri’s tugging on Viktor’s sleeve has gotten even more insistent.

 “Wait,” Viktor says, digging out his phone from his coat pocket. “Let me take a picture of you with it”

“Viktor!”

“Come _on_ , it won’t hurt.”

“What if someone notices?”

“Notice how handsome you are? I’m sure everyone’s already noticed that.”

“ _Viktor_!”

Fifteen minutes later, Viktor has a picture of a furiously blushing Yuuri recreating the pose from the painting saved as his phone background.

——————

“Don’t touch me.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri sighs, placing his hand on his shoulder. Viktor harrumphs, shrugging his hand off and turning away. “It’s not a big deal. Stop pouting.”

“ _’Not a big deal,’_ you say,” Viktor mocks him, shaking his head unhappily. “ _’Stop pouting,’_ you say.”

“Viktor—”

“I trusted you, Yuuri!” Viktor bursts out, throwing his hands in the air. “And look at what you did! You watched the finale without me! I thought we were in this together! This is betrayal! Of the highest kind!”

Yuuri sighs, offering him a blood pack already pierced through with a straw at the top. It's AB type— his favorite. “At least take this. You haven’t eaten in awhile.”

Viktor takes the pack petulantly, sipping at it with pouty cheeks. Yuuri sighs and drinks at his own pouch.

“Do you want to choose what we’ll watch then?” Yuuri offers as a compromise.

Viktor pauses, looking at Yuuri from the side of his eyes.

“…can we watch Legally Blonde?”

Yuuri doesn’t even verbally respond, instead clicking through the menu and selecting Viktor’s choice of movie.

As always when there lounging in one of their apartments, their bodies somehow find their way to each other. Viktor’s burrowed into Yuuri’s side, resting his head on Yuuri’s chest and sipping his drink. Yuuri’s settled comfortably into his seat as well, feet up on the coffee table with one arm loosely wrapped around Viktor’s shoulder.

It’s nice. It’s domestic. It makes Viktor so glad that he had the chance to meet Yuuri—to get to know him and spend time with him. Viktor’s never believed in the idea that you need that one special person to complete you—that you could never be whole without them. And even now, he still doesn’t. But as he burrows himself deeper into Yuuri’s side, relishing in the feel of Yuuri’s gentle hand petting through his hair, Viktor is so utterly and wholly consumed by the idea of having Yuuri forever by his side.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks after almost twenty minutes of content snuggling.

“What is it?” Yuuri responds, looking down at Viktor with head tilted curiously. In the dim light, reflecting the light off the television screen, Yuuri’s eyes remind him of stars.

 _He’s beautiful_ , Viktor thinks. So beautiful, in fact, that It makes him forget what he originally intended to say.

“It’s nothing,” he finally replies with a soft chuckle, placing his head back on Yuuri’s chest and embracing him tightly.

Yuuri gives him a confused look. “If you’re sure, Viktor.”

There’s a moment of silence—one where Elle and her sorority sisters squeal and celebrate after Elle opens her acceptance letter—before Viktor responds.

“Vitya.”

“Hm?” Yuuri says, almost distractedly. His eyes are still trained on the screen in front.

 “Call me Vitya,” Viktor says. This time, Yuuri straightens slightly and considers Viktor curiously.

“Is that nickname?”

Viktor hums as he thinks. “I guess…you can call it that. It’s Russian. We call it a diminutive—it’s still my name but just…”

“More intimate?” Yuuri asks. Somewhat sheepishly, Viktor nods. Yuuri laughs, pressing a kiss on top of Viktor’s head and hugging him close to his chest. In his arms, Viktor feels safe—feels _loved._

“Okay, Vitya,“ Yuuri says, the name curling _just right_ around his lips. It makes Viktor’s heart just feel so _so_ full. “I can do that.”

  ——————

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Viktor raises a brow, cocking his head curiously at him. Yuri scowls, angrily mashing the buttons on his controller. On the television screen, a flash grenade goes off, taking out a hoard of zombies in a violent spray of blood. He’s sitting on the floor, sitting crisscrossed with his back to the couch. Viktor, who’s been long dead for the past twelve levels, is sitting on the couch, legs drawn up to his chest.

“Look at you like what?” Viktor asks.

Yuri sighs, pausing the screen and setting his controller down on his lap. He twists so he’s staring up at Viktor.

“Like that,” he repeats. “Like a loser.”

“I thought you said I was always a loser.”

“You are,” Yuri says immediately. “But you’re acting like more of a loser. More than usual.”

Viktor laughs, shaking his head. “Yuri,” Viktor asks, changing the subject, “will you miss me?”

The teen snorts. “I can’t miss you if you don’t _leave_.” Viktor attempted to say goodbye almost two hours ago. He barely got two steps towards the front door before Yuri threw an Xbox controller at him and told him if Viktor held him back, Yuri’s never going to dogsit Makkachin for him again (which are lies—because Viktor’s pretty sure that Yuri loves Makka almost much as he loves his cat, Potya)

“I’ll never leave,” Viktor tells him honestly, and the terse expression on Yuri’s face softens somewhat. “But one day, you will. You’ll have to leave me behind—grow up and grow old while I’ll stay like this. Forever. Have you ever thought about that?”

Yuri pauses, his jaw twitching imperceptibly in his jaw. His fingers, where they were fiddling with the joysticks on the controller, have stilled. “Have _you_ thought about it?” Yuri asks instead. Viktor doesn’t respond because the answer is obvious. Viktor’s spent weeks thinking about this, the thoughts rolling around his mind so much, consumed by the uncertainties of the future.

“Cause if you _have_ thought about it,” Yuri continues, “then you’re pretty fucking stupid. Because there’s no point in worrying in the future. There’s still time—plenty of time. Worry about that when I’m just an old man as you are.”

A laugh bubbles its way out of Viktor’s chest, enveloping him and leaving a warm feeling in his chest. It’s such a Yuri thing to say—straightforward and blunt—and it’s so refreshing compared to the uncertainty that plagues Viktor’s thoughts.

“So, are you saying I should just leave it for the future Viktor to think about?” He suggests. Yuri snorts.

“There ain’t going to be a future Viktor if he doesn’t fucking pick up his slack in this dungeon,” Yuri mutters, resuming the game and immediately taking out another wave of zombies with a heat-seeking missile. Viktor laughs in lieu of a response, settling into a more comfortable position as he continues to spectate.

It’s during a brief period of calm as the game respawns more enemies when Yuri speaks next, his words almost getting lost between the blaring music coming from the game.

“Is he worth it?” Viktor looks down at Yuri, smiling when he sees how resolutely the younger man is _not_ looking at his direction.

“Yeah,” Viktor replies, surprised at the sudden raw quality that takes over his voice. “Yeah, he is.”

“…he’s not bad,” Yuri eventually admits. “You could do worse.”

 “Yuri…” Viktor says, bringing a hand up to his chest, touched.

“Whatever,” Yuri scoffs, quickly busying himself back with the game. Viktor doesn’t let this go easily, however, instead leaning towards Yuri with a dopey smile.

“You’re my favorite cousin.”

“Fuck you,” Yuri instantly replies. In Yuri terms, that will probably be the closest to an ‘I love you’ Viktor will ever get. “Now come on. I have another revive and if you die again, I will definitely kill you.”

 _It’s okay,_ Viktor thinks as he rejoins the game. They have this—they have time. They might not have forever but they have now, these little moments together. When Viktor dies immediately after respawning, prompting another expletive-filled tirade from Yuri, Viktor thinks that he can at least cherish this.

——————

Viktor’s mother wants to meet Yuuri.

It’s inevitable really—considering how much Viktor talks about him on their weekly phone calls. He can’t help it though. She will ask him about how his day went and the words will just tumble out of his mouth, gushing about how "Yuuri did this thing today and—” or how “Yuuri and I are going to the—” in an excited bumbling rush.

“I want to meet him, Vitya,” she sighs dreamily over her phone one day, her voice slightly static-y from the quality of the call. “He sounds so lovely. You’ll bring him home, one day. Won’t you?”

He wants to, so desperately wants to bring Yuuri back to St. Petersburg’s—to introduce him to his parents and show Yuuri the place where Viktor grew up—the home where Viktor was born in.

He wants to, but he can’t promise her anything.

 “Hey, Yuuri?” Viktor asks quietly. It’s nighttime now, the two of them preparing for bed. Viktor is sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching Yuuri, who’s still in the bathroom, roughly toweling his wet hair. “What were you parents like?”

Yuuri doesn’t normally like to talk about these parts of his past, usually ends up side-stepping these types of conversations, so Viktor doesn’t like to press. But there must be something in the way he says it because Yuuri looks at him through the open door before hanging the towel on the rack and walking towards Viktor until he’s sitting beside him.

“What do you want to know?” Yuuri asks. His hair is still damp, a bead of water running down the side of his neck and disappearing into the wide neck of Yuuri’s sleep shirt.

Viktor gives a shrug. “Well, what do you remember?”

Yuuri hums, flopping back onto the bed with arms stretched out on either side. “We lived in southern Japan,” Yuuri starts, a soft quality taking over his voice. “We had a rice farm but my parents already dreamed of making enough money to move to the sea—to own a little house by the water. We never did—it's not like we had any change to begin with—but that didn’t bother them. They were always thankful no matter what. Even if times were tough, they were thankful just for the fact our family was together, happy and healthy.”

“They sound like great people.”

Yuuri nods, smiling fondly in remembrance. “Yeah, they were.”

“Do you miss them?”

Yuuri gives a rueful laugh. “I miss them all the time,” Yuuri admits and the vulnerability that shines through his voice makes Viktor reach out for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. Yuuri squeezes back, gratefully.

“My mother wants to meet you,” Viktor finally says, the true purpose of this conversation coming to light. Yuuri hums again, meeting Viktor’s eyes

“Do you want me to meet her?”

“Of course, I do,” Viktor says, pushing lightly at Yuuri’s shoulder at just the idea that he wouldn’t be okay with it. “But…I don’t know if I could handle it, you know? Because if I see her…I’ll just remember that I’ll have to leave her someday. I’ll have to leave everyone.”

It’s a sobering thought—one that Viktor doesn’t like to dwell on too much. But sometimes, late at night, when Viktor lies awake listening to Makka’s gentle snores at the foot of his bed, the thought suddenly strikes him. It’s okay for now. Viktor still goes through his everyday life—can still go out on the weekends with his friends and bug Yuri to dogsit his poodle—but it won’t last. He’ll long outlive everyone he knows—this life that he knows. And he’ll have to go through this process again and again, for as long as he’ll live.

He thinks of Yuuri, who’s had to do this for hundreds of years, and feels his heart clench.

Yuuri frowns at Viktor, pulling Viktor down till he’s lying at Yuuri’s side. Their faces are so close, Viktor can barely feel the ghost of Yuuri’s eyelashes on his skin as the man blinks slowly.

“Do you resent me?” Yuuri whispers. He looks so sad. Viktor just wants to wipe the look away, to make the man smile and free him of all his worries.

“I could never resent you,” Viktor answers honestly. And it’s true. Because without this, Viktor would never have had the chance to meet Yuuri—to get to know him.

If Yuuri never turned him, Viktor would be given the chance to fall in love with him.

“It’s a lonely life, Viktor” Yuuri admits. He’s rubbing little circles into the back of Viktor’s hand with his thumb. “I won’t lie to you, Vitya. It’s so hard sometimes. Are you okay with that?”

At this point, Viktor doesn’t have a choice.

“I’ll learn, won’t I?”

Yuuri understands that too because his eyes soften before he leans in closer, pressing his lips against Viktor’s. He can’t help but sigh into the kiss, winding his arms around until turning over until he’s on top of Yuuri, looking down at the man’s shiny red lips and the flush disappearing down his chest.

“Come here,” Yuuri murmurs, eyes dark. He’s intoxicating—magnetic— and there’s no way Viktor can resist his pull. He dips back down, cupping both hands over Yuuri’s cheek and kissing him so forcefully that it drags a moan, long and guttural from the depths of his chest. It sets Viktor’s skin on fire, electricity tingling through his veins and Viktor’s caught off guard by how much he so desperately _wants._

It’s sad to think about the future—of what will inevitably come for them.

But for now, at least Viktor has Yuuri.

——————

Viktor’s never considered his birthday to be particularly special.

As the years went by, the occasion started to lose its feeling of grandeur and started to feel like any other day. Eventually, it became just a passing thought through his mind—easily overlooked in the grand scheme of things. He had other things to worry about and his birthday always seemed like an afterthought.

Perhaps that’s why spending the day with Yuuri was so refreshing compared to past birthdays. Yuuri stays by his side for the entire evening, refusing to part with him for even a moment, leaving tender touches all over Viktor’s skin. Gazing at him with adoring eyes, surprisingly unabashed when Viktor catches him and instead holding his stare. For once, Viktor is the one who looks away first, heart beating madly at the intensity of Yuuri’s eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Viktor laughs awkwardly, rubbing his neck. Yuuri, seated beside him, merely scoots forward till his face is resting into Viktor’s shoulder.

 “I’m just thankful you were born,” Yuuri shyly says, hiding his reddening face. “So very thankful. Won't you indulge me?”

With an answer like that, Viktor can’t resist his urge to keep Yuuri close.

It’s Christmas Day and outside, the Detroit city streets have been blanketed by a layer of snow. The streets are completely deserted, void of any footsteps left in the snow, perfectly and completely untouched, like a winter wonderland in the heart of bustling city life.

 _A White Christmas_ , Viktor muses from his place at the seat by the window. It reminds him of home, all the way back in Russia. Surprisingly, the ache he normally feels when thinking about home is mysteriously absent.

“Viktor?” A hand briefly touches Viktor’s shoulder and he looks up to see a curious Yuuri, dressed warmly in one of Viktor’s old sweatshirts and fleece pajama pants. He’s practically drowning in the fabric, the sleeves slightly too long and pants dragging against the floor. Viktor feels so soft looking at him. “Why are you looking out the window?”

Viktor gestures to the seat next to him and Yuuri sits down, facing Viktor with knees hugged to his chest.

“It’s nice, don’t you think?” Viktor says, glancing back outside where the snow continues to pile up. “The snow.”

Yuuri hums thoughtfully, resting his cheek on the top of his knees as he looks outside.

The two of them stay like that for quite some time, sitting together on the bench by the window, silently watching the snow fall outside. As always when they’re together, they end up gravitating towards each other, an inexplicable attraction compelling them together. Viktor doesn’t know when it happens—if it was him that moved first or Yuuri—but suddenly Yuuri’s sitting between his legs, his back pressed solidly against Viktor’s chest and the sweet scent of his freshly washed hair tickle’s Viktor’s nose.

Viktor shifts to give him extra space and Yuuri leans back gratefully, turning his head slightly so his lips brush ever-so-slightly against Viktor’s ear

“Happy birthday, Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs into his ear for what must be the twelfth time this evening and just as he’d done the previous eleven times, Viktor flushes delicately at Yuuri’s words, a warm feeling settling ever so nicely in his heart.

Viktor doesn’t verbally respond, instead wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s middle and hugging him tightly to his chest. Yuuri lets out a little sigh of contentment, relaxing in Viktor’s hold.

“I like you,” Viktor ends up mumbling into Yuuri’s shoulder, where he’s tucked his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri smiles fondly at Viktor’s confession, a quiet giggle escaping.

“I sure hope so,” he teases. At Viktor’s disgruntled grumble at his response, Yuuri laughs, twisting around so he’s facing Viktor directly, their faces only inches apart.

“I like you too,” Yuuri whispers back and Viktor can’t help but shorten the distance between them to steal a kiss. Quickly, one kiss morphs into two, and then another, and then another, until they’re lazily exchanging kisses, slow and deep as a budding warmth builds deep in his chest.

Eventually, they two pull apart, breathing heavily. Yuuri’s eyes are dark and blown wide, lips pretty and kiss-bruised. Viktor’s almost entirely laying down on his back now with Yuuri curled comfortably on top of them, leaning so their foreheads are pressed together and they’re staring into each other’s eyes.

 _I could fall in love like this_ , Viktor suddenly thinks. And while alarming, it’s not an entirely unwelcome thought. It’s too soon for Viktor to definitively say he loves Yuuri, their relationship still in its early stages. But Viktor can’t help but think of it with how tenderly Yuuri is staring down at him. Looking at him as if he’s something precious to be taken care of. Someone to treasure. Viktor wants to be in love—wants to love _Yuuri—_ and judging by the breadth of his feelings blooming in his chest, he’s certain that it will be only a matter of time.

Suddenly, overwhelmed with emotions, Viktor buries his face into Yuuri’s neck, ignoring Yuuri’s startled yelp of surprise. He relaxes shortly after, allowing Viktor to cling to him without complaint.

The thought of living forever scares Viktor at times—keeps him awake late at night, the dark thoughts swimming endlessly in his mind. But with Yuuri curled up in his arms, sweet-swelling and utterly enchanting, those worries fade away.

 _I could love you_ , is all Viktor can think at this moment. He doesn’t say it now, but Viktor knows he could say it soon. _I could love you so much. If you would let me._

 “Happy birthday, Vitya,” Yuuri says softly once more, bringing a hand to rest gently on Viktor’s cheek. Unconsciously, his eyes drift close as he nuzzles closer, relishing in the intimacy of the moment. Without even having to look, Viktor knows what the smile on Yuuri’s face looks like, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering prettily. He presses closer and whispers into Yuuri’s skin, lips curving gently into a smile.

“Merry Christmas, Yuuri.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at [pockybugi!](http://pockybugi.tumblr.com/)


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